


Wrist

by bakerst



Series: Are You There? [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, i hope i nail this, my first au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-07
Updated: 2014-09-07
Packaged: 2018-02-12 03:43:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2094402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bakerst/pseuds/bakerst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU where your wrist has a clock that counts down to the minute you meet your soulmate. Will be updated once a week.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

John stared blankly at the clock imprinted on his wrist. He could hear his therapist talking in the background, but a fog filled his mind that he couldn't shake off.  
His clock was getting closer to its endpoint: 1 day, 30 minutes, 50 seconds. 49 seconds...  
John didn't know who his soulmate was going to be. Male, or female? A stranger, or an old friend?  
People had teased John mercilessly when he was a child. Said his soulmate would die by then.  
John clenched his fist. This person wasn't dead yet.  
John would know.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock looked at the black numbers on his wrist. 1 day, 30 minutes, 50 seconds.  
Sherlock, from childhood, had always wondered what meeting his soulmate would be like. Mycroft had found his when he was 16. Greg and him had gotten married and adopted kids long ago. Would this soulmate like science and crime novels? Would they maybe have a mind palace? Hopefully they wouldn't be too dumb.


	2. At Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So I'm going to update this at least once a week. The chapters for now are really short, but I promise once I have ample time to write they'll be a bit longer.  
> So in this chapter, I leave it on a cliffhanger. Stay tuned.

30 minutes, 50 seconds.  
John was on his way home from the bakery. He'd bought himself a nice bagel for lunch.  
When John entered his flat, he noticed that his maid had been by earlier. The cabinets were finally rid of dust, and the lamp no longer had cobwebs. Not like it really mattered, his soulmate probably wouldn't want to live here. The whole place was dark and creepy, with strange noises emitting from every corner. John opened the bare pantry and placed his bagel bag in it. He looked at the clock again.  
10 minutes, 20 seconds.  
Then John felt it.  
He'd heard it described as a rush of adrenaline, a burst of magma shooting through your veins. It almost hurt, but it sent a cool air creeping up his spine. John heard the voice telling him to go, to run to his soulmate.   
John rushed out the door, the wind blowing mercilessly.  
5 minutes, 10 seconds.

~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock felt it. It's here, he thought. After over 20 years of waiting.   
He looked at his clock. 5 minutes, 10 seconds. It's happening, it's finally happening, he thought. They're coming.  
He felt the cool air rush over his spine, the excitement rushing through his veins. It was overall Sherlock's favorite drug, adrenaline, and it was back.   
Sherlock heard footsteps approaching behind him.  
10 seconds.


	3. Domestic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy Johnlock near the end. I made sure to keep it longer.  
> -I've been working nonstop due to a sudden load of free time, so you get this nice long chapter early. Fourth chapter is in the works.-

John saw him. A dark haired, tall man wearing an oversized black coat and a blue cashmere scarf, with a purple shirt. His soulmate, who looked...oddly familiar.  
"Hey, you," John called out.

"Y-Yes, can I help you-" Sherlock's speech was suddenly cut off when he looked at his clock. 0 seconds, and then, that gold stripe replaced the clock, showing that Sherlock had found his soulmate.

Both men looked up at one another and jumped back, startled. "John?" Sherlock asked.

"Sherlock? Y-You're my soulmate?"

"I suppose I am."  
Of all the people John had expected to meet at 0, it wasn't him. Not this pretentious twit, who truly believed that every one else was dim-witted aside from himself. If this was him-it was, there was no denying it-God and any other deities surely wished him to go to hell. 'No,' John thought. 'This is fucking terrible. He's everything I didn't want.'

"So," Sherlock coughed to break the silence, "Want to go to my flat?"

"Of course," John said, and he followed behind Sherlock's tall, sweeping figure.

It was not two minutes before they came upon 221B. Sherlock fumbled with the lock and threw open the door, hanging up his coat in a swift, fluid motion, his scarf flew onto the hook with it. John walked slowly up the crickety stairs, as Sherlock opened the door to the main rooms slowly. The smell of freshly brewed tea wafted in the air, and it filled John's nostrils with something that smelled like home. An old, plump woman turned the corner and introduced herself. "I'm Mrs. Hudson. And you, you're Sherlock's person, hmm? Well, that's good, he'll get some company." Only then did John notice the black line across her left wrist.  
John knew what that meant. It meant your soulmate was dead or somewhere else you could never reach. It happened to many, but part of John's soul died a little inside, because it twisted the stomach to think of it happening to you. John instead decided to focus on the flat itself.  
It was quite the eccentric place, with a skull resting on the mantlepiece. There was various papers strewn across a wooden desk, with two worn chairs near the fireplace. One was a dusky green with a faded quilt laying along the back. The other chair was red leather and a straight back. They were complete opposites. 'Just like us,' John thought. 'But they-somehow-fit together.'

Many bookshelves stuffed to the brim with books (among other things) lined the walls. John noticed a kitchen with bright blue walls, and a table in the center. This table was piled high with Sherlock's experiments and equipment, and there appeared to be several human body parts in the fridge. "Want some tea?" Mrs. Hudson said kindly.

"Oh, yes, thanks," John said in a curt manner. John settled into the green chair to drink his tea.

"So, John, I assume you'll be living here?" Sherlock asked anxiously. 

"Yes, Sherlock, that'd be nice."

"I only thought so, you have such a depressing flat-" This was interrupted with a cry of "SHERLOCK!" from Mrs. Hudson- "it's only natural you wouldn't want to live there given this opportunity. I mean, with all your mentality problems, and that psychosomatic leg, a little company would do you some good."

"How did you know I've got issues like my leg?"

"Deduced it" was Sherlock's answer, as he bent down to retrieve a paper from the pile of them.

"Brilliant," John whispered in awe.

"So, John, you can have the room upstairs, to the right. Got it?"  
Something about this bothered John. He felt he should sleep in Sherlock's room, since they were mates for life. But at the same time John wasn't ready for that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sherlock took time off of his Friday to help John with moving. The whole event was boring and exhausting, in Sherlock's opinion. John did seem like an okay choice for being a life partner with. He was strong and steady and loyal, much like a nice dog. A dog was good for Sherlock.   
Sherlock had to admit he was quite attracted to John. The heat made John sweat and Sherlock nearly dropped a painting when he got a glimpse. Sherlock figured he needed a case to sort out this madness, and he made it quite clear.

"Sherlock, please stop twitching. I'm trying to work," John sighed and looked at Sherlock, "D'ya wanna stop by Bart's with me? Corpses might help?"

Sherlock was already waiting by the door. He loved corpses, and he would love seeing corpses with John. It was like a kid showing his friends a prized possession. Sherlock literally bounced into Bart's. Now here was some real fun. Sherlock went into Molly's lab, and she brightened when she saw him.

"Good morning, Sherlock," she chirped, and added in a less happy voice, "John. What I can I help you with?"

"Molly, are you wearing lipstick?" Sherlock asked.

"Oh, yes, thanks for noticing."

"Don't. It looks like you're trying to compensate for your small lips. Tea, please. English Breakfast, two sugars."

"Oh, okay, Sherlock," Molly sighed, and slunk out of the room with a defeated look on her face. 

"Sherlock! She just tried to look nice today!" John yelled.

"She failed" was Sherlock's answer.

"Great," John groaned, "Can you not do it again?"  
Sherlock mumbled some incoherent word and turned back to the microscope.

 

When they reached 221B, John tapped Sherlock on the shoulder. "Hey Sherlock," he said.

"Yes, John?"

"Um...can I...stay in your room, maybe?"

"I suppose so, John, but know that I don't do sentiment."

"Okay, Sherlock."

Sherlock wondered why in God's name John wanted to stay in his room rather than his own. He knew he wasn't a good roommate, and besides, they only had one bed. John would have to sleep on the floor.  
When night came around, Sherlock finished taking his shower only to hear the door creak open. Was that Mrs. Hudson? She was supposed to be gone for the night.  
"Mrs. Hudson, you can leave now, you know-" Sherlock's sentence was struck dead by noticing John curled up in a small ball on Sherlock's bed. "John, no, off. I'll get you the air mattress."

"Nooo, Sherlock, I like it here," John mumbled. "It's nice and cozy."

"Fine," Sherlock said, and he finished up in the bathroom and climbed onto his side of the bed. John curled up beside Sherlock, and they both fell asleep.


	4. Cupcakes, Fluff, and Anger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John makes his move.  
> It doesn't turn out very well.

It was Sunday, and John had left the flat to go pick up some things from the grocery. He had just parked his car when he heard a "JOHN!"

"Mike? Mike Stamford?"

"Yeah, John! Nice to see you're back from the war."

Mike was John's old flatmate from college. He was an awful nice guy, and he had married his soulmate in college. They seemed to be getting along quite well these days.  
"Yeah, it was brutal. Got shot."

"That's terrible, god! I can only imagine how bad that is."

"At least I found my SM."

"Oh, yeah, I was gonna ask you about that. He or she?"

"He. Wonder who it is? That bloke Sherlock."

Mike laughed. "I knew it all along. You two are complete opposites, therefore you fit."

"Mike, you should have a statue erected in your honor."

"I know, right? Well, tell Sherlock I said hi!"

"Will do, Mike."

 

John walked into the living room. "Got some food, Sher."

" 'Sher'? What is that?"

"I'm giving you a nickname, it's Sher. Any questions?"

'Sher' completely disapproved of the name, but he went on to say, "Got any milk?"

"Sure, here you go, want some cereal?"

"No, I need it for an experiment, get me the tongs."

John sighed and handed Sherlock the tongs. Sherlock returned to his work while John trudged up to take a shower.  
When John exited the shower, he found Sherlock sitting upright on the bed with the tongs and what looked like solid milk-if that existed.  
"SHER! You know I was taking a shower, stay downstairs."

"I got bored." Sherlock shrugged.

John attempted to stomp off into the closet to change when to his disappointment, the towel around his lower body fell down. 'Shit,' John thought. He pulled it into the closet and shut the door, peeking out a little to see if Sherlock had seen. Sherlock either didn't care or hadn't noticed; he was too intent on his work.  
John breathed a sigh of relief.

'Yesterday afternoon was brutal,' John thought. He was completely right; after the towel debacle, John had knocked hot tea all over Sherlock's suit (and got quite the angry reaction for it), spilled flour and cream all in the kitchen when trying to bake a cake, and had made Sherlock generally rather pissed off.

"John," Sherlock huffed, "Why don't you go pick up some cupcakes instead of trying to make some? It would be more...beneficial."

"Good idea."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When John went to go pick up the little cakes, Sherlock got down and began to clean up the flour; he reasoned it would do no good to leave it lying around. Poor John had caused so many problems lately. Like near lunch, where he'd gone to take a shower and had dropped the towel. Sherlock was a bit impressed with his own acting skills-he'd perfectly well noticed, but he hadn't cared enough to make a huge deal of it.

Of course, John was walking on eggshells later after he'd spilled tea on Sherlock-he'd blown up at John. He hadn't meant to, but none of his experiments were working out and that event was the icing on the cake, as John would put it. 

So Sherlock, thinking on this little simile, suggested-or rather, ordered-John to go pick up some sweets or something of the like. John clearly wanted to get out of this situation as much as Sherlock did, and John had scurried out of the flat before Sherlock could even open his mouth.

The flour was everywhere, and was practically impossible to clean up. Soon Sherlock's face was streaked with the snow-white powder. At that same time, John arrived with the cakes, and told Sherlock to take a break from cleaning. 

They both sat down in their chairs near the fireplace, and opened the bag. John handed Sherlock a lemon one and took the vanilla one for himself. There was a moment of silence as Sherlock finished his cake, only to find his entire mouth was covered in lemony icing.

John laughed and reached across to face Sherlock, his lashes about an inch away from Sherlock's.

And then, well, it doesn’t take a genius to figure out what happened.

Sherlock pulled away from John and slapped him hard on the cheek, leaving a large red mark. He ducked under John while John reeled back from the slap, as Sherlock ran angrily upstairs and slammed the door.

John was in shock. He knew Sherlock wasn't the romantic type, but really? That was a little harsh.


	5. Drift Apart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry I haven't updated this, school started and I'm drowning in work. Here's a new one.

Sherlock had been planning this moment.

He'd tested the waters long enough. They'd told him it would be painless. 

He got the bottle of pills from his cabinet and stared at himself in the mirror.

No, he couldn't die like this. He had to go out with a bang.

He brushed past the shell-shocked John on his way out.

Sherlock had decided to give his friend a call.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

Moriarty picked up his phone to find a new message.

 

Meet me at the top of Bart's. It's time.  
-SH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really short due to the fact that the next one concludes this fic. The second book will be started soon.  
> Teaser trailer!


End file.
